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You
sawed off my wings then
Asked
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I'm slim, baby, caramelized as a Slo-Poke buried in the fatty acids of some old dog's guts. The way they creep, frantic with finesse, free, locking their eyes in the dental mirror. It's wrong, maybe, but who'd dare to declaw them? Look at it from their angle, the one that…
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Jody wakes some days with pieces missing.
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We were over Casper, Wyoming, when some terrorists tried to take over the airplane. They had concealed weapons.
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After my vasectomy, I got a T-shirt with a picture of an orange on it. It said "All Juice, No Seeds."
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by Bobbie Ann Mason and Meg Pokrass
at The Nervous Breakdown website:
http://www.thenervousbreakdown.com/mpokrass/2012/10/tweeting-war-and-peace-with-bobbie-ann-mason/
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Christ walks the streets of Venice,/has long since become a regular . . .
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I am a romantic writer, true. But what comes after the romance is what fascinates me. A lover dying is the most beautiful scene I want to write. The most beautiful scene I have yet to write.
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Wake up! But it was already too late for Charles.
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Mick Jagger and I strolled rue Gabrielle in Montmartre. Our conversation spread from apples to shellfish. We stopped for some oysters. Do you remember a time when books were venerated, I asked? I remember a time, he said, when rock and roll was a fetus in the tank of…
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The other day I’m in the backyard with one of my kids, doing what he’s calling a training exercise, which is basically the two of us with flashlights, shinning the beams over the grass and up into the night to see what we can see.
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I need some fantastic news. I need some happy news. I need to feel happy. Need Fantastic Need Fantastical Need News Need Happy need happy news make happy news happy make ake
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Opposite the foothills, on the field's southern edge, was a stand of old eucalyptus trees, each one a gnarled sentry with bark like burnt skin peeling from its trunk.
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They talk but they don’t really / talk
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Diedre and Pearl look on from their perch at a nearby table as Eleanor dribbles water from a plastic measuring cup into the bowl of crushed chalk and, using a clean fork, mashes it into a thick paste. A few more dribbles bring it to the correct consis
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She’s the worst student in my Modern Film class and we’re alone at a bar.
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Call him a hobo or homeless or bum or junkie.
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Nostalgia is
when memories
turn into Gods
of knowing who you were.
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Beneath their feet bedrock stretched a hundred miles
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Disability is indivisibility—all of us could be its members—unlike its affirmative action forebears who remain underrepresented, even as the groups’ selected contestants prepare to retire early, a distributed group whose specialty is American anthropology
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I had a crappy room on the fourth floor of a crappy hotel.
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He understood that people no longer read or thought deeply about things but continued to write anyway. He understood that Einstein's theory of relativity was proved correct during the world's longest eclipse of May 29, 1919 when photos of the Hyades star cluster…
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I have no more use for the beautiful words you used to like so much for me tosend you alone. See my feathers donot so much hide me now as giveme away; I tend to feel farfrom home. Forgive me this. Theend jumped by me quicker than anorange flower cricket on its…
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Harpo sits and looks at something I can't see. I drink beer and ask him questions. I ask him how they found the cancer. Backache, he says. He went to see a doctor.
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I would love to believe
that this poem
might sell a poetry book
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